


Must Be Santa

by tardisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12 Days of Destiel, Christmas, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Season/Series 10, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-01 17:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2782217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisy/pseuds/tardisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No way, man. There is no! Way!”</p><p>“Dean –“</p><p>“No, Sam! I’m not goin’ undercover as friggin’ Santa Claus!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Must Be Santa

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted for [12 Days of Destiel](http://12daysofdestiel.tumblr.com/post/105548329353/must-be-santa).
> 
> Happy Holidays!

 

 

The room was stark and sparsely strewn with generic office furniture, the humming florescent lights a metronome for the hellish beat of what could be called music droning low somewhere beyond the door. Beneath the rubber soles of his shoes, the floor was sticky; with what, he didn’t know, and didn’t care to know.

Sweat beaded at Dean’s temples, heat prickling uncomfortably beneath his collar, as he fidgeted against the hard back of the metal chair he was, for all intents and purposes, stuck in. He was too warm, his limbs felt too heavy, and even if he could sneak out, he’d never be able to do it without being noticed.

He had missed his chance to escape, and now all he could do was wait for the inevitable.

_Son of a bitch._

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he heard crisp footsteps clip down the hall and pause at the door before the metallic _creak_ of it opening had his heart beating double time. Dean took a deep breath before turning his head toward the newcomer.

An older woman with salt-and-pepper hair pulled expertly into a tight bun, sharp eyes, and a clipboard tucked beneath her arm slid into view.

“So sorry to keep you waiting. Urgent business to see to, and not enough time in the day! You know how it goes.”

Dean mustered up his most charming grin.

“Not a problem. You do what you gotta do, right?”

The woman smiled back, wickedly pleased.

“Well, let’s not dally, then.”

Dean braced himself, and thought of Sam.

Thought of Castiel.

“Are you ready?”

Dean clenched his jaw, and nodded.

“Great.” She clapped her hands. “Let’s hear your best _Ho, ho, ho!_ ”

Dean mustered up his most charming grin, and tugged at the synthetic, snowy-white beard currently in a death-embrace around his face. The door hadn’t quite closed when the woman – Mary Fae, of Human Resources– had entered, so he could vaguely hear the saccharine strains of _Jingle Bells_ echoing down the hallway, where it lead into the bustling Oakwood Prairie Mall.

He took a deep breath, and thought of Sam. Thought of Cas.

_Yeah, I’m so gonna kill them both when I get back._

 

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

 

NOW

 

“Hey guys,” Sam murmured over the familiar clatter and hum of a diner’s breakfast rush, “I think I found something.”

Dean paused mid-chew, glancing over to where Castiel was tucked between him and the wall. Cas had torn himself away from his – frankly disturbing – new hobby of reading bottle labels like he was working for the FDA, and was staring at Sam with hesitant anticipation.

 _Friggin’ finally_.

The week before Christmas had found them traveling back to the bunker after a string of easy jobs. It had been something to get Dean and Castiel back into the swing of things after the exhausting and horrific ordeal of finally ridding Dean of the Mark – and the memory of it all quickly skittered away from Dean, even as he set down his fork and let his hand drift to the scabbed over scar on his arm. It had taken a long time to get back on his feet, even longer for Cas, who had sacrificed almost everything to fix him, and while the past few weeks of hunting had been great, fantastic even, he was eager to get home and take a breather.

Of course, that meant that they’d hit a blizzard and get stuck in a podunk town in the middle of Iowa with nothing to do, and too much time to think.

A job sounded like Christmas come early, right about now.

“Dean?”

That snapped him out of his reverie, and when he looked up, Sam and Cas were watching him with concern, Sam’s gaze directed at where he was still rubbing unconsciously at his forearm, Cas’ laser-locked on his face. He pulled his sleeve down, clearing his throat.

“I’m fine. It’s nothin’. What’s the job?”

Sam gave him a long look before he picked up the newspaper again.

“Strange Holiday Epidemic Affecting Local Mothers,” Sam recited. “Yesterday, an unidentified woman believed to be diagnosed with the mystery illness affecting area residents was admitted to the hospital.”

Dean could feel Castiel still staring at him. He glanced at him with what he hoped was a reassuring wink and a smile, gently nudging him with his elbow for good measure. For the moment, it seemed to satisfy Cas, as he turned his attention to Sam once again.

“This is the twelfth reported case since Thanksgiving weekend. ‘What makes this strange,’ an anonymous source reports, ‘is that this disease seems to only be affecting mothers of young children.’ Symptoms include strange marks on the body, extreme weakness, dehydration, paranoia, and hallucinations. ‘Some of the patients share common delusions, claiming the marks are the result of attacks by their children, who they believe are turning into monsters.’ While they doctors are attempting to pinpoint the source of the outbreak, patients in isolation are responding positively to treatment and they do not believe it is attributed to an airborne illness.”

“Look under your chairs, ladies, changelings for everyone!” Dean mumbled into his cup of coffee.

“Not sure Oprah would approve of that,” Cas deadpanned, and yeah, Dean didn’t think he was ever going to get used to the guy’s direct-to-download pop culture literacy.

Castiel’s hand shook slightly when he reached out for the paper, and as Sam handed it to him his brother met Dean’s eyes, not Cas’.  Castiel’s recovery had been slower than Dean’s, the remnants of his grace gently guttering into humanity, and their grand comeback foray into hunting had left him drained, no matter how he tried to hide it.

“Listen,” Sam tried, and with a glance Dean knew the same concerns were running through his brother’s mind. “Maybe we should just call someone in. The weather’s gonna be clearing and we should hit the road –“

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, nudging at Cas again. “I don’t know about you, buddy, but I’m beat.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Castiel said without looking up from the newspaper, “and would prefer that you _not_. I certainly don’t want to leave this to continue until other hunters get here, and I know that you don’t either.”

Dean couldn’t argue with that, fatigue notwithstanding.

Of course, had he known what was in store for him, he would have strapped chains on the tires and blown this icicle stand without a second glance in the rearview mirror.

 

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

 

“No way, man. There is no! Way!”

“Dean –“

“No, Sam! I’m not goin’ undercover as friggin’ _Santa Claus_!”

Sam rolled his eyes with a long-suffering sigh as he reached for the newspaper resting on top of the haphazard stack of books and notes piled on the table between them. He shook it under Dean’s nose, eyebrows arched pointedly.

“Changelings, Dean. People in big trouble, _Dean_. You’re gonna let a little pride and a big red suit get in the way of saving lives?”

Dean scowled while Cas struggled against a smile that seemed determined to form on his tightly pursed lips.

“Why the hell can’t _you_ play jolly old St. Nick, Sam? Or are you afraid they’ll stick you on sleigh duty instead?”

Leaning toward him with his patented _I’m About To Be A Helpful Little Shit_ face, Castiel murmured, “If you’re subtly referring to your brother’s nickname, I’m afraid to inform you that Santa Claus traditionally has reindeer pull his sleigh, not moos—“

He stopped as Dean glared at him dangerously. “You are way too amused by this, dude.”

Castiel grinned, unfazed.

“It doesn’t make sense for me to do it. The Chief Physician at the hospital already thinks I’m from the CDC from those cases we did a few years back.” Sam attempted to look sorry, but couldn’t get past _smug as hell_. “Thank the baby Jesus for Christmas miracles, huh?” he added under his breath.

Rolling his eyes, Dean whipped the newspaper off the table to look at the ad Sam had found in the _Wanted_ section of the paper. Even the goddamn circle his brother had drawn around it looked like it was taunting him.

 

**_WANTED: Santa Claus (seasonal)_ **  
**Location: Oakwood Prairie Mall**  
 **Do you love Christmas? Do you love to bring smiles to children’s faces? Are you full of holly, jolly holiday cheer? Then we want to hear from you! Oakwood Prairie Mall is looking to fill a position for our official Santa Claus. We have an immediate need, so the position will only be open until filled. Please contact Mary Fae of Human Resources for more information and to set up an interview!**

 

“It couldn’t be more perfect, Dean,” Sam reasoned, in that way that made Dean think of court rooms and closing arguments. “According to everything we’ve found, the common denominator between the women affected is that they took their children to that mall to see Santa. Something weird is happening in there and we need an inside man.” He poked at the paper with an encouraging look.

“You are very good with children, too,” Castiel added.

Dean groaned, covered his face with his hands.

“ _Argh_. Fine! But what about backup?”

“Huh?” Sam hummed, as Cas made a small, hurt sound beside him. Dean ignored the latter.

“Are you just gonna sit around like a creep watching the kids sit on Santa’s lap all day, Sam?”

“Um, actually –“

“And what am I, Dean?” rumbled Cas. His eyes were narrowed, clearly annoyed, when Dean finally faced him. “What did you think I’d be doing?”

“You’re staying here and takin’ it easy.”

Although staring Cas down was usually an exercise in futility, there was no way in hell he was going to let his gaze wander away from his eyes to take in the sheen of sweat on Cas’ skin, or the dark bruises purpling his neck, a recent addition from their last job when his dwindling grace ran a little too low, and he was a little too slow. He wasn’t going to think about what the Mark and its aftermath almost cost him. About what it might cost him in the future.

“I’m not an invalid, _Dean_. I’m not going to let you go in there alone.”

Dean smirked. “I won’t be alone, Cas. I carry the spirit of Christmas in my heart.”

Castiel’s face turned downright stormy, but before he could open his mouth again, Sam reached across the table to lay a hand on each of their shoulders.

“As cute as it is to watch you guys be dicks to each other, I’ve already got this covered. If you think I’d let _either_ of you do anything without backup right now, you’re nuts.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Dean and Cas grumbled together.

Sam nodded at the newspaper clenched in Dean’s fist.

Smoothing it out onto the table, Dean skimmed through the _Want_ ads again. When he saw a second, smaller ad on the bottom of the page, his mood suddenly brightened considerably.

_Oh my god._

A wide grin spread across his face as Sam began to laugh in solidarity.

Castiel eyed them with a wary, hunted look. “ _What_?”

Dean pushed the paper into his friend’s chest and pointed the passage out to him. Castiel’s mouth dropped open in unabashed horror.

“Be careful what you wish for, buddy.” Dean dropped an arm around his shoulders, whispered conspiratorially at him. “ _Santa_ always knows! I’m magic, man!”

When this was over, he was going to have the damn ad framed, and set it right next to a photo of Castiel in striped pants and jingle bell shoes.

 

**_WANTED:  Santa’s Little Helper (seasonal)_ **  
**Location: Oakwood Prairie Mall**  
 **Every Santa needs a sidekick for Christmas!**

 

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

 

Three days into _Operation Secret Santa_ , and Dean could safely say that Hell didn’t have anything on retail the week before Christmas. During the long hours of sitting upon his candy cane throne, he wondered if Crowley had reconfigured things downstairs again and started sending the jerks back just to torment him.

Probably.

It wasn’t even the kids – it wasn’t the kids at all, in fact. They were, if he was being honest, the only bright spots in his day (watching Cas jingle around in his elf getup was a _very_ close second). No, the problem was the _parents_.  

 _Do this, don’t do that_.

 _Tell her she wants this_. _Tell him he was a bad boy and can’t have that_.

And if one more anal tiger mom came up and doused him with hand sanitizer, his grumpy, blue-eyed elf was going to have to hold his fluffy red hat.

Speaking of that elf.

A disappointed groan arose from the line of bouncing children and exasperated parents as Castiel pulled a green velvet rope across the entrance to _Santa’s Winter Wonderland_ , and set out the _Gone To Feed The Reindeer_ sign.

Dean groaned as he heaved himself up from his seat, joints protesting at being poised in one position for far too long.

_The least they could do is spring for some memory foam, god._

“Santa!”

“Fuuh—dge!” Dean shouted, as a tiny voice sounded from directly behind him.

When he turned around, there was an eager, freckled face boy making grabby hands at him. Dean looked around for any panicked adults obviously looking for a wayward son, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“Hey, kiddo.” He went down to one knee so he could look at the kid in the eyes. “How’d you get in here? My elf and I were closing up shop to go feed Rudolph.”

The boy pointed down the long, covered tunnel leading out of the display. It was little more than a temporary structure of wire and tarp, pushed against the wall so as not to impede foot traffic. Dimly lit with twinkling fairy lights, it was covered gaudily with tinsel and cheap baubles, and echoed incessantly with Santa’s Top 100. It looked like, as Cas had described to Sam in mildly disguised disgust, _Santa’s small intestine_.

Dean couldn’t have put it better himself.

“Ah. Well, you know that’s only for leaving, and not for coming in, right? It’s not fair to cut in line –“

Dean hesitated as the boy’s eyes began to well with tears.

“But, uh. Santa will make an exception for you. What’s your name, little guy?”

The boy smiled widely. “Sam.”

“Huh.” Dean answered with an equally bright grin. The synthetic material of the beard tickled his lips. “My brother—I mean, um. Santa knows a. Uh. A moose named Sam.”

“You dooo?” Mini Sam bounced on his toes.

“Oh, yeah. He’s huge. Long, flowing hair. He’s a big, majestic moose.”

“Wow.”

Dean hummed his agreement, afraid he would burst out in laughter. “So, Sam. Where’s your parents?”

He pointed out into the sea of shoppers. On a nearby bench was a harried-looking mother trying to comfort a screaming infant.

“Mommy thinks I’m in line. She says we have to come to see you now ‘cause she can’t take off her work again. You won’t tell her I snucked in, will you?” Little Sam brought his hands up to his mouth, looking for all the world like Santa was going to tear him apart for that admission.

“Well, I bet she’s gonna be real worried about you when she doesn’t see you in line, so let’s be fast, okay?”

The boy nodded excitedly, relief apparent.

“Alright, what do you want for Christmas, Sam?”

“Alls I want is an angel. Mommy says she can’t get me one, but Santa can do _anything_.”

Dean’s mouth worked for a moment. “Like, a toy angel? An angel for your tree?”

“No, a _real_ angel. Mommy says angels are the best and they protect you and if you pray to them they’ll help –“

“Heh, um, I don’t know about that,” Dean muttered.

“What, Santa?”

“Nothing, it’s just. Uhm. See, the thing about angels is they’re kinda di–“

A loud peel of screaming laughter had Dean’s head whipping toward the crowd. Castiel, with a gentle smile on his face, was letting tiny hooligans climb all over him, sticky little hands grabbing at his ridiculous elf hat and the bells adorning his collar, as their parents watched on in grateful amusement.

“Santa?” Sam asked, tugging on his sleeve.

“Sorry, kiddo. I was sayin’…”

 _Or not saying._  

Dean recollected his thoughts, and started again.

“The thing about angels is, they’re not like pets. They got their own minds, like people. It ain’t right to tie down an angel. It’d be like clipping a bird’s wings.” He glanced back at where Castiel was starting to extricate himself from the squirming mass of tiny bodies. “But there’s angels out there that’ll do everything to make things better for you. For everyone. Just ‘cause. And if you’re lucky, and I mean, _real_ lucky, one might look at you and decide to stick around. Even if it’s a dumb thing to do.”

Little Sam pouted, his voice soft and sad.  “So does that mean you can’t get me one?”

“I’m sorry, kiddo. Santa can’t give things like that.”

Lip quivering, Sam burst into tears as turned away and took off through the tunnel. Dean watched as he emerged from the end a few moments later, thankfully no longer crying as he reached his mother, who shot him a dirty look when he pointed at Dean.

Shaking his head, Dean looked away and swore under his breath.

“I have a feeling that could have gone better,” a gruff voice observed.

“Yeah, well. Can’t win ‘em all, I guess.” Dean blindly reached out his hand. “Do your duty and help an old man up, little elf.”

Cas gripped his arm and pulled him up from the ground. “Need I remind you which one of us is eons old, and thus has eons of combat experience.”

Dean grinned at him and tugged at the bell hanging from the tip of his hat. “Nope, no need. Let’s get changed and hit the food court. _Buddy_.”

Castiel squinted at him. “You know, I can tell the difference when you’re making a pop culture reference and when you’re using that as a term of endearment.”  

“A term of endear – “ Dean choked, and the flush flooding toward his face had nothing to do with the bulky suit or the pillow stuffed up his shirt. “Yeah, okay, let’s go,” he mumbled, heading toward the employee locker room, Cas following close at his heels.

 

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

 

“I dunno, man,” Dean said around a taquito, “I haven’t seen anything that’d make me believe Mama Changeling is hangin’ around _Bath And Body Works_ in between snatching some kids. It’s too public, so not their MO. And there’s too many people around for us to get into shit during the day.”

Castiel picked at his salad – _salad_ , when there was perfectly good, greasy mall food at his fingertips. “I’d have to agree. When I snuck away during the lull this morning, I thought I would be able to follow the janitor into the basement for another look.”

“And?”

“Mary Fae caught me before I could get down there.”

“HR Mary Fae? Why the hell was she over there?”

“She said she had to talk to the janitor about,” he paused to flip up his fingers in air quotes, “’a major incident’ in the bathroom by Sears.”

Dean drummed his fingertips against the sticky tabletop. “Okay, so I know she checked out. Background, good. No freaky reflections. So call me stupid –“

Castiel scrunched his face in confusion. “Why would I call you stupid?”

“Jus—forget that.” Dean shook his head. “It’s just. I mean, _Fae_. _Fairy._ Really? When we’re dealing with changelings? It’s like, too obvious, right?”

Cas shrugged. “As you said, she checked out. We’ve spoken with her. We’ve observed her.” He picked at his salad again before dropping his fork with a sigh. “Did you hear anything from Sam?”

Dean tapped on his cell phone where it rested between them on their small table.

_No new messages_

“Nothing since he called before the morning rush. Same old, same old. Watch the moms, handle the wannabe rugrats, talk to the docs, chase leads.”

Castiel stared absently over his shoulder, lost in thought. “Do you get the feeling he did this on purpose?”

“What? Throw us in here so he can do the bulk of the legwork?” _Of course he did._ “’N’aw, I think he just wanted to see us in stupid costumes so he had blackmail material on us for the rest of our days.”

But Castiel ignored the deflection in favor of murmuring, “He did it because he thinks you need to slow down. And he’s right. You still need time to recover from the effects of the Mar—”

“ _I_ need to slow down? Speak for yourself.” Dean scoffed, and shoved more food in his mouth. Frustration from their lack of progress in the case made him want to lash out, and his faithful elf just gave him the perfect outlet.

Castiel narrowed his eyes at him. “ _I’m_ fine. You, however, are not. I can see it.”

“Bullshit,” Dean ground out. “The friggin’ fake snow – which, by the way, I’m pretty sure is asbestos – isn’t as pale as you are these days. And you can say those stupid elf shoes hurt your feet, but you’ve been limpin’ around for weeks, so you can start thinkin’ of a different excuse.”

“Really?” The table rocked when Cas leaned forward on his elbows. “And what about you? You barely sleep even though you are clearly exhausted, you look guilty all the time, and you throw yourself into danger like it will atone for the things you did when you were not yourself.”

They stared at each other, daring the other to back down, only breaking eye contact when Dean’s phone buzzed.

 

_SAM  
How’s it going?_

 

Dean grabbed the phone off the table and hastily typed out a message.

 

_DEAN  
Eh. Cas is being a dick._

_SAM  
Is that any way for Santa to talk about his most trusted elven friend?_

_DEAN  
Screw you too._

_SAM  
Be nice or you get coal in your stocking._

_DEAN  
I’m the big man now. I’ll decide who gets coal and where it gets put. Be careful and let us know if you get anything._

_SAM  
10-4. U 2_

 

“Nothin’,” Dean muttered at his phone before looking up at Castiel. He had resumed his sullen excavation of the salad bowl, and only grunted in response. Dean’s frustration dwindled away the longer he watched him. “Cas –“

“It’s fine, Dean.”

“No, Cas,” he sighed. “It’s not okay. I’m sorry, alright? I just –“

“I know.” And, after a pause, “I’m sorry, too.” He poked absently at an emaciated tomato. “I don’t want to fight with you,” he murmured quietly.

Dean cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. “Yeah, um. I don’t, uh. I don’t either.”

As he took in the strong line of Castiel’s profile, a sharp contrast to the gaunt shadows of his cheeks, he felt an uncomfortable pang in his chest.

“Guess we, uh, haven’t really had time to talk about everything, huh?”

Cas’ mouth quirked in a quick half-smile. “Not really. We were getting better, then – “

“Back on the road, yeah. Yeah, well. Better than sitting around thinkin’ about it all, right?” Dean huffed nervously, not intending to have revealed even that much.

Castiel only shrugged.

“Hey.” He tapped his foot against Cas’ beneath the table until he looked at him, both strangely solemn. “How’re you, Cas?”

“I’m fine.”

Even with what little was left of his grace, his eyes were bright as ever. It made Dean’s breath catch in his chest.

“How about this,” Dean breathed. “You tell me the truth, and so will I.”

Cas perked up with interest. He searched Dean’s face for a few moments, as though he had hidden terms and conditions written across his face; when he seemed satisfied, he nodded his agreement.

“Okay. Again. How are you, Cas?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and Dean was momentarily distracted by the motion. “I’ve been better. But I still feel… too slow. I am hungry frequently, but the taste of food is still strange. I am tired, but sleep is difficult to come by. My body aches, and there is a place within me that still burns, but not enough. I feel… too human.” Castiel paused, looking almost self-conscious, before he asked, soft and genuine, “You?”

At first, Dean couldn’t speak, and for a horrifying moment he almost thought he could feel the burn of tears flood his eyes, but when he blinked, the sensation was gone.

“Same, Cas,” he answered roughly. “Exactly the same.”

Castiel reached out to lay his hand upon Dean forearm, where the remnants of the Mark were hidden, and if he touched him there on purpose, Dean wasn’t sure. But for once, he didn’t care that they were in the middle of a busy thoroughfare of mall during the holiday rush; he didn’t care that people saw them, leaning close to one another, he didn’t care what they thought. It felt good, feeling connected with Cas like this, even if the circumstances behind it were shitty, and Dean was going to take it.

Castiel rubbed his thumb across the fabric of his shirt there, but Dean didn’t think he even aware of it.

“I would do it again, Dean.”

Dean shook his head adamantly, “Cas, don’t –“

“I’m being honest, Dean. I _would_ do it again. Despite this. Even if it had cost me more –“

“It almost did cost you more, you son of a bitch. Any time you use your grace, now, that could be it for you. That’s on _me_. I told you to end me, not save me,” he whispered harshly.

The muscles in Castiel’s jaw jumped. “Because we have never shared the belief that you deserve to be saved. It was within my power to do it, once I obtained my grace, and it was mine to do with as I saw fit.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Castiel continued, undeterred.

“You _are_ worth it, and it was my choice, Dean. Do not belittle that. I have chosen where I want to be, and who I want to be with, and I certainly do not regret it.”

Dean searched his face, but there was no hint of a lie in his clear eyes.

Then, inexplicably he smirked. “Although I might regret letting you and your brother talk me into this. I don’t enjoy _jingling_ whenever I walk around.”

That punched a laugh out of Dean, taking some of the tension with it.

“Thought every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings,” he said gruffly, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand.

“I’m sorry to tell you that is a gross inaccuracy.”    

“What, so Zuzu was lyin’?”

Castiel tilted his head and scrunched his face in comical distaste. “Would you trust someone named Zuzu to be an authority on angels?”

“N’aw.” Dean leaned back just far enough to pop another taquito in his mouth. “Guess I’ll give that title to the one with the _–el_ at the end of his name.”

Castiel smiled for a moment, but then his grin dimmed, and he asked, hesitant, “Even though he’s not much of an angel anymore?”

Dean swallowed – the moment felt too important to be had with a mouthful of dubious Mexican fare – and looked at him. “Angel or not, gotta say, he’s a hell of a guy. But don’t tell him I said that.” He shrugged. “Ego, ya know?”

Smiling, Cas squeezed his arm where his hand still lay heavy and warm against him.

He didn’t move away, and Dean didn’t complain, until their phones chimed and signaled the end of their break.

 

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

 

The rest of the day passed uneventfully and, as their shift drew to a close, the frustration that had dissipated during their short lunch break had Dean’s shoulders set tight again.

He could see the same had happened to Cas, standing stiff and still behind the velvet ropes, looking out into the dwindling crowd.

“Dammit, Cas,” he groaned as he approached, “we haven’t seen _jack_.”

“Yes, we have,” Cas grumbled irritably. “We’ve seen _Jack_ , and Billy, and Emily, and Rosa, and Feli—“

“Okay, okay. You made your point.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder as they watched the people saunter in and out of storefronts.

“Cas?” Dean asked slowly.

His friend hummed.

“Do you realize how ridiculous we look right now?”

Castiel looked down at his green jumpsuit, candy-cane striped knee-highs, and pointy gold shoes, hands held out in subjugation as he shook his head, stubbornly fighting a smile.

“If I had shown up in the barn that day, dressed like this, what would you have done?”

Once the image was planted in his brain, Dean couldn’t shake it, and he doubled over with laughter.

“Oh my god,” he breathed, wiping tears from his eyes, “probably more of this, and less attempted homicide. Whew.”

They were didn’t speak for a few moments, the brief respite fading as swiftly as Dean’s laughter as their minds returned to the case.

“Saw Mary Fae talkin’ to you before.”

Castiel glanced at him before returning his gaze to the open mall. “Yes.”

Dean waited, and when he didn’t continue, prompted him with an, “And?”

“And I commented on the commercialism of Christmas, and how so many of the things the mall advertises are unnecessary additions to a holiday that, at its heart, is less about material items and more about family, togetherness, and –“

“Okay, Charlie Brown, I’m with you on that one. What else did she say? Anything… off?”

Turning to him, Cas asked, “Does that make you Snoopy?”

Dean raised an eyebrow at him, and Castiel sighed.

“She only felt the need to share some observations with me. About you.”

“ _Me_? Why? What’d I do?”

“Nothing. She was, uh.” Cas tucked his hands into the pockets of his jumpsuit, and when he rocked nervously on his heels his bells jangled. “She was commenting on your excellent… _portrayal_ of Santa Claus.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean stroked the white curls of his long beard smugly. “What exactly did she say is awesome about it. Besides everything?”

It might have been a trick of the colored lights flickering around them, but it sure looked like Cas was blushing when he blurted, “She said you were the _hottest Santa_ this establishment has ever had. That the, uh, beard complimented your. _Glorious cheekbones_.”

Dean’s fingers got stuck in a tangle in the beard as he coughed through surprised delight.

“Well, now I feel bad for ever doubting the lovely Mary Fae! Aww, what’s wrong, Tinkerbell?” Castiel rolled his eyes in exasperation when Dean waggled his eyebrows at him. “Jealous?”

“Please.”

“Aww, c’mon, Cas.” Dean set his hands on his cheeks to squish the frown off of his face. “I’m sure someone thinks you’re the cutest little elf this side of the Mississippi.”

Cas’ face grew positively deadly, despite Dean’s attempts at reconfiguring it with the palms of his hands.

“Don’t be like that.” He stepped away and looked at Castiel up and down. “If I got the cheekbones for this beard, you definitely have the legs for those socks.”

Mortification had Dean’s face blazing hot beneath the beard as the words fell out of his mouth far more seriously than he had intended.

And now Castiel was watching him just a little too closely, clearly curious, mouth vaguely twisted in amusement, and yeah, it was more than time to do some hunting while they could. He grabbed Cas’ arm and pulled him in the direction of the locker room.

“Let’s see if we can find anything before we have the night guards on our asses again,” he mumbled as they passed the opening of the tunnel out of the _Wonderland_ area.

“Dean,” Castiel stopped, urgent and low, as he tugged back on the furry hem of Dean’s red jacket. “Dean, wait.” He twisted out of Dean’s hold and disappeared into the tunnel before Dean could ask what he saw.

The fake snow crunched beneath his boots as he strode toward the middle of the dimly lit structure.

“This section of lights is out.”

Dean looked up and down the tunnel. “Yeah. That happens, dude. What’s up?”

Castiel reached out, running his hand firmly along a seam in the tarp, eyes wide and focused.

“Doesn’t this look strange to you?”

Now that he mentioned it.

Yeah it did. It was subtle, just a crease and a slight bulge made apparent by the newly created contrast of darkness and light.

“Dean. There’s something here.”

Without hesitation, he placed his hand next to Castiel’s, and together they pulled at the seam. It split with a loud tearing crackle, but with little resistance. Velcro.

Behind the open flap in the tarp was a plain, nondescript door.

“This ain’t supposed to be here,” Dean said, looking to Cas.

Shaking his head, Castiel replied, “No, it isn’t. This wasn’t on the map of the mall. This was marked as –“

“A friggin’ billboard. The pictures we got off the internet showed those huge-ass ads covering this wall.”

The adrenaline began surging through Dean’s veins, and as he stared at Cas in dawning understanding, he could see an echoing response.

He reached out and tried the door handle.

The door swung in smoothly, silent.

Dean smirked at Castiel as he rolled up the heavy red material of his pant leg to pull a .22 out from his ankle holster. “Whad’ya say?”

Cas smiled wickedly, eyes glinting with the fairy lights as he did the same. “I say, yippie-ki-yay, motherf—“

Grinning with a quiet, “That’s my boy,” Dean pushed him toward the door, and together they slipped into the dark hallway.

The combined light from their phones wasn’t much, but it was enough to at least see what was immediately in front of them.

Which, quite frankly, wasn’t much.

“How long do you think this damn thing is?” Dean whispered after several minutes.

There were no other doors, no hollow spaces in the drywall. It was just a long, seemingly never-ending hallway.

“I don’t know,” Cas murmured back. He was a couple of steps behind Dean, feeling along the opposite wall.

“Hang on. Lemme text Sam.”

The light dimmed as Dean turned his phone toward him, punching out a quick message.

He had no sooner done that then Castiel suddenly shouted his name and bright flash of light illuminated the entire hallway.

And with that, the world dropped away, and Dean knew nothing more.

 

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

 

Dean’s stomach lurched when he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

“Sonovabitch,” he slurred when he realized he was tied to something very sturdy and not all movable.

“Dean? Dean!”

Turning his face to the side, he found Castiel not even an arm’s length away from him, similarly bound to, what he could now see, was a non-working radiator.

The side of Cas’ face was red with dried blood, staining the collar of his costume. He was missing his hat –  what a goddamn shame – and his pupils were too blown for Dean’s liking. He was frantic, settling only once Dean struggled to right himself in a sitting position.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Cas bit out, “are _you_? You’ve been out for a long time.”

Pressure pounded at his temples, but besides that throbbing ache and the sporadic nausea, he felt okay, and said so.

“Someone got the jump on us?”

“Clearly,” replied Castiel, slightly exasperated, but in seemingly better humor now that Dean was conscious. “They hit us in the head –“

“Yeah,” Dean winced as he shifted his weight, “got that one.”

“And my instinct was to use my grace instead of my gun,” Cas continued, and he sounded so damn disappointed. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Cas, man. That stuff is for emergencies, dude. We gotta work on that. But ‘s okay. We’ll get out this.”

His friend shrugged noncommittally, as much as his restraints allowed. “On the bright side…” Castiel trailed off nodding in the direction beyond Dean’s back.

Dean craned around as much as he could, and his mouth fell open in shock. He and Castiel were on the far wall of a large room, the bulk of which was sectioned off with wall-to-ceiling wire mesh to form a huge pen.

A huge pen with _children_ in it.

“Is that –“

“All of them, yes,” Castiel confirmed. “All of the children whose mothers were hospitalized… and some who were not. They appear to be in good condition, all things considering.”

“Holy sh—“

“Dean.” Castiel reprimanded sharply. “They are also very glad to see _Santa_ come to their aid.”

He whipped his head back around and his vision swum only long enough to see Cas’ look of encouragement morph to one of concern.

“ _Really_ , Cas?”

“I told you! I told you Santa would come for us!” a little voice shouted excitedly.

A _familiar_ little voice.

Dean shifted around again.

“ _Sam_?”

“Santa! You remember my name! He remembers my name, see!”

“Cas,” Dean whispered, not taking his eyes off the children, now murmuring hopefully en masse as they poked their fingers through the wire of their enclosure. “I just saw that kid today.”

“I know. He said you’re a _meanie_ because you won’t bring him an angel for Christmas.”

“Well, lookee here. Does Santa deliver or what? I even brought one all tied up with a bow.”

Dean smirked, and didn’t even need to look at Castiel to know he was probably going to pay for that one later.

“You should know that you amuse yourself far more often than you do others.”

Despite the joke, Dean could hear the fatigue in Cas’ voice, weakness rapidly leaking through cracking syllables now that the panic had faded away.

“Hey,” Dean swung his attention back to him, his head and stomach protesting with every movement, but the cold draught of worry numbed the discomfort. “How you doin’ there? Gonna stick with me?”

“Of course,” Castiel said plainly, as though his answer would ever be anything but. Then his eyes cleared, and the children backed away from the front of the pen. “I think we’re about to have company, Dean.”

Sure enough the door swung open to reveal.

Of _fucking_ course.

“Oh, don’t look like that,” Mary Fae, of Human Resources, soothed. “How do you think I felt, having to hit Santa and his elf in the head?”

“Santa, do something!” a young girl screeched, and the other children clamored for the same.

The noise made the pounding in Dean’s head give the little drummer boy a run for his money.

“It’s okay, kids! Santa’s gonna fix this just… he needs some quiet, ‘kay?” he placated weakly.

His adoring audience fell silent immediately.

“Wish that worked with you ‘n Sam,” Dean snorted.

How Cas could look like the self-described ancient, fearsome warrior of the Lord even trussed up, _dressed up_ , as he was, was pretty damn impressive.

 “Alright, lady, so what’s your deal? Wait for the little rugrats to skip down Santa’s Jolly Christmas-O-Tunnel, do the ole bait and switch when they roll on by, and send their clones home with mommy and daddy?”

Mary Fae shrugged. “Essentially,” she answered, and strangely, she sounded sad.

Before Dean could evaluate _that_ , Castiel cleared his throat and spoke.

“Why so many?”

She tilted her head at him. “Pardon?”

“Why so many children? And so quickly? And so publicly? This is a high-risk situation for you, is it not?”

Dean’s mouth quirked as she looked at him, and away from Cas.

“Your elf asks a lot of questions,” she said.

“What can I say? Guy’s got an inquisitive nature.”

Her mouth pinched down into a frown, and she folded her hands in front of her primly.  She spoke as if she were reciting from a script. “It’s about quantity. Stocking up for the year and getting as many of our children out there as quickly as we can, and as widespread as possible. Although there is some risk, we find it worth the tradeoff as far less effort is required to produce better results.”

“Lady, you’re wasted in HR,” Dean said, but something in her spiel distracted him. “Wait. What do you mean, _we_?”

“Oh, yes.” She drummed her fingers together nervously. “You must understand… I don’t want to do this. I _really_ don’t,” and as she spoke, insanely, she seemed sincere, “but I must. I have no choice.”

“What are you talking about?” Castiel growled.

Mary took a breath, as though preparing to answer, but fell silent as they heard heavy, deliberate footsteps reverberate down the hall.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and her eyes shone bright in the flickering fluorescent light of the room.

Another woman, vaguely resembling Mary Fae minus a decade, limped through the door. She looked at Dean and Castiel incredulously. “They’re still alive?”

“Sarah, you know I can’t—“

When Dean looked at Cas, his face was slack with surprise, and Dean knew he probably looked the same as they put it all together.

“Just wait a goddamn minute!” Dean yelled, which got a harmonious _Oooooo_ in response from the children. “Don’t uh, don’t repeat what Santa says, kids!” he added belatedly over his shoulder.

As he surveyed the women before him, he caught sight of Sarah’s reflection in one of the faded, framed posters hanging in the room, and it told him all he needed to know.

He focused on Mary. “You’re not the big Mama Changeling,” he said, fearless and pissed. “You’re just her dumbass lackey.”

Sarah laughed, but Mary’s eyes flashed with indignation. “She’s my sister!”

It was Dean’s turn to laugh then, a soft, humorless chuckle as Castiel answered. “There is nothing of your sister in this creature!”

“You don’t understand,” Mary pleaded, “when our mother died, all we had left were each other! She was so young. _We_ were so young. I needed to help her.”

“But she’s the one that killed your mother,” Castiel asserted fiercely.

“And the thing that planted her in your happy little home killed your _real_ sister,” Dean finished.

“She _is_ my sister,” Mary murmured with conviction, tears running freely down her cheeks, “I told our mother I’d take care of her. I would do anything for my family. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Listen. Mary,” Dean spoke urgently, but let some of the compassion welling in his chest bleed through. “I understand more than you know. _Believe_ me. I’d do – I have done _anything_ for my family.  But this thing is _not_ your sister. This thing is a murderer in your sister’s skin.”

Mary gasped through a sob as Sarah watched on in morbid fascination.

“This is very touching and all, but frankly, I’m ready to move on with the proceedings,”  Sarah purred, and although she looked human up close, Dean could see the monster in her eyes, “Especially because I have more work to do now. Mary’s always been a little too soft-hearted. But that’s alright.”

As she approached Dean, Mary covered her eyes, and turned away.

“Get away from him,” Castiel growled, with a deadly calm that always made Dean shiver in sympathy for his target.

Dean used the brief distraction to pull futilely against his restraints, but it was no use.

Sarah laughed as she knelt in front of Dean, trailing her fingers up his arm.

Suddenly, he was struck with the sick realization that they were enormously screwed.

Why the hell didn’t they get all of their gear out of the lockers before they ventured into the tunnel? Why the hell didn’t he call Sam sooner?

He looked at Cas, and saw the same panic he was feeling flare in his eyes, but there was only one thought running through his mind.

_It’s okay, Cas. It’s okay._

And with the kind of clarity that only came in the moments before some monster ganked you, instead of the other way around, Dean believed it was the truth. It _was_ okay.

Because Cas was there.

Even as shitty as that sounded, knowing what it also meant for Castiel’s fate.

Of course, he’d rather they not die side-by-side looking like the Christmasized version of Bonnie and Clyde, and in front of a bunch of poor kids, Jesus.

But hey.

He could definitely say that the two of them had had worse.

Sarah’s hands tightened around his throat, but even as he struggled, he kept his eyes on Cas.

Cas, whose lips were curled in an angry sneer, but was still and quiet, eyes closed tightly in concentration.

Which meant –

“Castiel,” Dean gasped, “don’t you fucking dare!”

Cas’ eyes flew open, and his pupils were brilliant with light, weaker than Dean had ever known it to be, but just as stubborn as the man, the angel, it belonged to.

“Shut your eyes, Dean!”

Sarah pulled her hands back as if she’d been burned, cowering away from him. “What are you?!“

“ _Cas_!”

“Children, _shut your eyes!_ ”

And as he had countless times before, Dean listened, and watched the familiar light flare bright behind his eyelids, and everything went still.

Then Mary wept loudly, as did some of the children. Some of them were cheering.

Dean couldn’t open his eyes.

Cas had said, in a moment in the dark of the bunker’s kitchen, after the Mark, after sacrificing so much of himself to bring Dean back, that going supernova wasn’t a go-to option anymore. That it was a last resort, because he didn’t know if he’d survive it.

Dean couldn’t open his eyes, could only whisper, “Cas?” and realized distantly that he could move his arms and legs, his restraints burned away by the blast of Castiel’s grace.

“Dean!”

It wasn’t the right voice that answered him, but a beloved one just the same.

“Sammy!” he choked, and he couldn’t help but look then.

Sam was standing in the doorway, clearly having understood Dean’s text of _SANTA SM INTESTINE TUNNEL! !adf94ur_ , taking in the scene before him: Mary crying over the charred body of the changeling mother, children huddled together in their pen at the far corner of the room, and glass scattered everywhere, frames and bulbs having exploded when Castiel unleashed his power.

“What? _Dean_?”

But Dean didn’t answer, only rolled over to support himself with shaking arms as he saw the blurred, prone figure of Castiel next to him. He crawled over to brush away the scorched remains of his bindings, then lay his hands lightly on Cas’ back, where the fabric of his stupid elf costume was torn and frayed.

Sam dropped to his knees across from him.

“No,” Sam uttered in disbelief, and Dean watched numbly as he reached toward Cas’ neck.

And then Castiel groaned, his body jerking weakly beneath their hands.

“Cas?”

Dean tried to roll him over, but his limbs were too heavy and too light at the same time, his vision swimming, so it was Sam that pushed Cas into Dean’s open arms.

Castiel blinked up at them, the dim light in his pupils fading away into nothing.

“Did it work?” he croaked.

Sam laughed incredulously. “From where I’m standing, looks like it.”

“You’re such a dumbass, Cas!”

“ _Seriously_ , Dean?” Sam shook his head at him.

Castiel just winced. “Could you perhaps not shout directly into my ear?”

“You just tried kill yourself!”

“No,” he replied hoarsely, petulant, “I tried to kill the changeling, which,” and he just barely heaved himself up enough to survey the room before collapsing into Dean’s hold, “I have done successfully.”

“Yeah, about that,” Dean added, coming back to himself, “maybe start getting the kids out of here, would’ja, Sammy?”

A slender hand darted into Dean’s vision, making it blur again before he could focus on Mary, who was handing Sam a key.

“Go ahead,” she nodded at it, and sniffled wetly, her eyes swollen and red. “Please take them home to their families. I’m so. So sorry for my part in this. For everything I’ve done. For all of,” she gasped, “these years.”

“Yeah, okay. Um.” Sam looked to Dean before rising up and stepping around her, rushing toward the children’s pen.

Once Sam had them corralled safely into the hallway, Dean jutted his chin sharply at the pen, staring pointedly at Mary.

“Get in, lady, ‘til we decide who we need to call.”

She walked in without objection, her head down, resigned and pliant.

Sam locked the door behind her, then came back to stand over Dean and Castiel.

He smiled down at them.

“What?” they asked in simultaneous chagrin.

“Nothing, it’s just, you guys look ridiculous. Like the North Pole version of _La Pieta_.”

“Screw you, Sammy,” he said, but couldn’t help but smile back when Castiel shook in his arms with silent, slightly delirious, laughter.

Once Sam got them to their feet, they leaned precariously against another as he watched, visibly concerned.

“You guys gonna make it down the hall?”

Dean winked, he hoped reassuringly. “We’re right behind you, Sasquatch.”

They made their way slowly into the hallway. Dean took one last long look at Mary, crouched in the corner of the pen, shoulders slumped in defeat as she sobbed into her hands, before he closed the door behind them and they limped away.

Dean did not want to think of all the shit they had to do now. For the moment, all he wanted was to let that gratitude that came with the successful conclusion of a case wash over him: that the kids were alright, that they’d be back with their families soon, that all the monsters were destroyed in one fell swoop, that Castiel and Sam would see another sunrise.

A small hand slid into his, and, as though he had appeared out of nowhere, there was suddenly a little Sam smiling up at him.

“Hey, kiddo. Why aren’t you with the group?”

“I’m sorry I called you a meanie.”

Dean huffed tiredly, feeling an echoing response shudder through Castiel.

“It’s okay, little man. I’ve been called a lot worse.”

Little Sam squeezed his hand. “You brought an angel to help you save us,” he said, sure and pleased.

Castiel tripped on his own feet, and they stuttered to a halt.

The denial was right there, on the tip of Dean’s tongue, but he swallowed it back.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.” He supported Cas as best he could when his friend struggled to his knees. “Sam,” Dean said, resting a hand on his shoulder, “this is Castiel. A real-life angel.”

Holding out his right hand, Cas gave him a soft, wobbly smile. “It’s nice to see you again, Sam.”

The little boy grinned as he slid his hand into Castiel’s palm. “You were pretending you were an elf.”

“I was.”

“Like you were undercover!”

“Exactly,” Cas whispered with an exaggerated wink.

Little Sam eyes darted between Dean and Cas before he launched himself in Castiel’s arms, almost causing Cas to fall flat on his back if not for Dean’s shaky support.

“Thank you for saving us. Mommy says angels protect people if you pray to them.  ‘Specially on Christmas. I prayed and you came! Can I pray to you all the time?”

Dean watched as Cas’ eyes shone bright with wetness, and his hand was moving to rest on Cas’ dark head before he could even consider the movement.

“Of course you can, if you want,” he murmured, then pulled out of Sam’s hold. “I may not be always be able to answer you, though.”

“It’s okay. I like just talkin’ to you. It’s nice.”

“Hey! I lost –“ Sam the Taller came rushing down the hall in a panic, sliding to a halt when he saw them. “That one,” he finished lamely.

“Little dude,” Dean said, jostling mini Sam’s shoulder. “Remember when I told you I knew a moose named Sam?” He stuck his index finger to point in Sam’s direction, nodding with purpose until the boy’s eyes brightened in understanding. “Yup, that’s right!”

Little Sam bounded away from them, chattering away excitedly at Sam’s feet. “Where do you put your antlers? Santa was right about your pretty hair!”

Sam looked back at the child in utter bewilderment, throwing his arms out to Dean in an obvious display of _What the hell, man?_

Dean shrugged and gave him a thumbs up. “We’re right behind ya!”

Once the two Sams disappeared down the hall, Castiel sagged against his leg.

“I’m not certain, but I think I’m stuck down here.”

“Well, I’m not certain, but I think we can get you back up here if we double-team it.”

Bending as low as he dared, Dean urged Castiel to loop his arms around his neck as Dean wrapped his own low around Castiel’s back. With leverage and the narrow hallway on their side, Cas was soon on his feet with a low groan, and pressed closely against Dean.

Or rather, as close as they could be with Dean’s Santa padding between them.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“Is this a hug?”

“Shut up,” Dean said, and squeezed him tighter as emotion suddenly threatened to overwhelm him. “I’m so fucking pissed at you.”

“I know.”

“I’m so fucking pissed at you for trying to implode because of me. _Again._ And before Christmas, dude! What the hell!”

“I know.”

“Stop pullin’ that shit.”

“No.”

And since Castiel was a stubborn bastard that wouldn’t listen to reason, Dean followed what he felt was, in his foggy mind, his only remaining course of action.

_The hell with it._

Throwing caution and fear and everything else to the wind, he shoved a hand into Castiel’s hair, pulled his head back, and kissed him.

 And then promptly lost his balance.

They broke apart as momentum sent them careening to the side with twin grunts of pain.

Dean took a few deep breaths, dimly realizing his full weight was holding Castiel up against the wall. “Yeah, so, I’m pretty sure I have a concussion.”

Castiel regarded him cautiously.  “Which of the actions you performed in the last 20 seconds are you blaming on that concussion?”

Dean felt a surge of panic when he couldn’t remember if Cas had responded to the kiss or not.

“Umm… all. Of them?” Dean tried.

That seemed to be the wrong answer, if the disappointment Dean thought he saw in Cas’ eyes was any indication.

“Or… not?”

He smoothed a hand down Castiel’s shoulder, nervous as he leaned into him again.

His heart fell when Cas wormed a hand between them to stop him. The sharp, anxious pang of rejection briefly stifled the other aches plaguing his body.

“Shit, sorry, man. Um. Concussion.”

Castiel huffed in exasperation, and cool air caressed Dean’s face as he felt the Santa beard, long forgotten, drag across his mouth, his chin, as Cas tugged it down and away.

“The material is very uncomfortable against my face.”

“Okay,” Dean said dumbly.

Castiel rolled his eyes, and when he pulled Dean in by the faux fur of his Santa jacket, the bells on his elven jumpsuit jingled with the motion.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I confess: this was just a thinly-veiled excuse to have Dean and Cas work a case dressed as Santa Claus and his merry little elf. ; )
> 
> Wishing you and yours a wonderful holiday season!
> 
> [Must Be Santa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8qE6WQmNus) (Bob Dylan)


End file.
